


I could touch a hundred thousand souls but none of them would ever feel like home

by TuskFM



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Happy And Nothing Is Wrong, F/F, Found Family, Sexual Content, Traveling, it's two vague paragraph and some innuendo but it's there, joenicky is background but they have several scenes, op has a washing kink apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuskFM/pseuds/TuskFM
Summary: And so charged with their bags they make their way to the inn.“There should be tubs waiting for us.” Quỳnh says, and they all hear Niccolò’s sigh.“Praise be to god.” He says in Arabic, the language he always uses when he wishes to make Yusuf smile. It doesn’t fail, the warrior has a smile bring down his serious frown, and he flashes a wink to his other half.“Be glad you don’t have to smell yourself.” Yusuf says, laughter in his voice.“I do smell you though,habibi. As much you are dear to me, there’s limits to a man’s love.”“Can you hear them Quỳnh? A bit of dirt and they cannot kiss.” Andromache teases as she pushes the inn’s door open, looking over her shoulder with a smirk.“Wait until we hit the monsoon and there’s no river safe enough for us to bathe in. Your love will be challenged then.” Andromache remembers when they got stranded in a bog a couple century ago. She remembers Quỳnh complaining about mud in unsavory places for months, amongst other sweet memories.~Wlw and mlm solidarity. That’s it. That’s the fic. AndyxQuynh and JoexNicky on the road in the 15th century, having a good time.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 26
Kudos: 256





	I could touch a hundred thousand souls but none of them would ever feel like home

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains various dubious historical facts about hygiene and washing in 15th century. I spent days researching historical events and roads, past name of countries and mountains, clothing and food and thought, hey, I can get away with bringing a bathtub in the room, right? And a bar of soap?
> 
> The movie is incredibly vague about Quynh’s age, and Noriko in the comics is about 500 AD but it doesn’t fit with the alexander the great conquest they fight in, so I placed Quynh at around 2500/2000 BCE to give them 2.5K years together before the iron maiden. I’m honestly not sure where that number comes from but I think it’s a great one.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy all those gays having the time of their life on the road together. 
> 
> Title from Pvris – Anyone Else because I’m a simple lesbian, leave me alone.

They have left the Hum front in Europe about two months ago now and they’ve rode fast but there’s still a good month of travel before they reach the goal of their journey, which is the Đại Việt and the fights happening there. They are still wearing their clothes from eastern Europe, and they’ve gone through all their change of clothes from various fights; but Quỳnh got them a new set of clothes at a good price from a family that’s moving to a bigger town, leaving lots of possession behind. The fit isn’t perfect, but it’ll do. They’re only waiting to bathe before changing, because they all rather fit in rather than draw the eyes on themselves, it’s safer, and easier.

They took various jobs along the road, partly to keep the boredom at bay, but they all know the real reason. Their last one was about two weeks ago, they escorted a group of merchants on a portion of the silk road through mountains known for its thieves toward China territories, making good money out of it and enjoying prepped meals and music around camp fires. But as nice as shared evenings are, they’ve missed this closeness between themselves. Travelling in a band isn’t the same as being by themselves. They have to thread carefully about their nature, their relationships. They have to be careful to not slip up and reveal a date or a name that shouldn’t be said, much less known. Even the best of them can like the liquor too much some nights.

And as much as they love being together, alone in the wilderness, nothing but them with the wolves and the stars; nothing wins against a night in a dry, warm bed after a bath and a filling meal. Which is exactly where they are heading to.

Andromache, as per usual, is leading on a horse she bought a couple town ago. The feral beast as described by the precedent owner turned out to be a good horse after a week spent in Andromache’s expert hands. She comes from the first riders after all. She’s barely holding the bridles, guiding the animal with her knees alone. Quỳnh is following behind, gently humming in the air. She’s been like that since they started their journey, and the closer they get to her first home, the louder her singing is. Her and Andromache can pretend all they like that they have no bound left with their lands and their first life, but he and Niccolò both know this isn’t the truth.

Andromache smiles wider when they’re around the Mongolians and ride in what they now call Kazakh territories, and Quỳnh likes to travel by South Asia every decade or so, no matter what. But again, Yusuf likes to see his deserts and cities once in a while, and Niccolò can’t help but look at anything from his kingdom. He’s not sure they’ll ever really loose that connection to who they were.

Niccolò closes the march, always keeping an eye on them, quiet. Yusuf is happy to between the people he loves the most in this world. There’s no need for talk, it’s enough to just watch Quỳnh’s bow resting at her saddle, and to listen to the beat of the hooves over the rocks, knowing they’re together.

After another hour or so of riding, once the sun starts to approach the horizon in the sky, they finally get to the near town promised by road merchants. With a click of her tongue, Andromache stops her horse, and they regroup around her.

“We’re staying the night.” She says. “We’re stocking up on provisions tomorrow, but tonight we rest. We won’t pass by another town before a couple weeks after this one if we want to be in Đại Việt before falls arrive. So enjoy the roof and warm bed.” She adds with a grin.

“If we keep this speed up, we should be there soon.” Quỳnh says, hope lingering in her voice. “And Yusuf, there should be paper here.” He flashes a smile at her.

“Charcoal?”

“Maybe. Not sure. But this is a highly sought road, there’s the necessary for merchants and scholars here. We could buy an ink stick.” It’s true that her and Yusuf bounded over calligraphy quite fast, and they appreciate when they can settle down properly and draw together, side by side. He misses that, actually. I’d be good if they can find one here.

“ _That would be nice._ ” He says in her dialect, and she smiles.

“We keep low,” Andromache says. “Don’t want to attract attention, okay?”

“Got it boss.” Yusuf is already flanking his horse, impatient to finally mount down, and Quỳnh follows closely. This is their first village since they entered Chinese territories, and she’s getting excited, as much as the threat of China looms over the lands and the surrounding countries.

“Insatiable spirits, the two of them, right?” Niccolò tries to be exasperated, but the fondness in his voice is clear as crystal.

“Yeah.” Andromache doesn’t even bother to try and hide her feelings; she only smiles and flank her horse. Without a word, Niccolò takes his place in front of her. If she doesn’t lead, she closes the march, that’s how it works.

~

They stop at the first inn they see, too impatient to search for another one. It seems like a rather safe place, and there’s stables for the horses which is good enough for them.

Yusuf, ever the scholar he is, has already picked the locals way of speaking. And Quỳnh, hungry for familiarity, has been heavily involved with any person they cross road with, sharing and asking all she can about her lands. So far, little good news came out of the talks. So they both walk to the first desk to ask for a room, all while Niccolò follows them behind, keeping an eye on the surrounding and watching their back. Andromache stayed outside with their horses, because they have many valuable on their saddles that would best stay in their possession.

“ _We would like to book two room._ ” Yusuf says in Chinese, accent barely tainting his words. He’s rather proud of that, if he says so. The worker looks at them, and at Niccolò who is standing back, and he frown.

“ _For three?_ ”

“ _For four._ ” Quỳnh says. “ _Big beds would be better._ ”

“ _We are weary from travel, we won’t ask for much more than a warm meal and bath._ ” Yusuf adds, smiling, and the worker seems to relax a bit at that.

“ _We have two room free. We can get tubs for you if you can pay for them._ ”

“ _Money won’t be a problem._ ” Yusuf lays coins on the table, and the worker nods. He seems to feel more at ease once he knows they have money and no intention to cause trouble. Travelers carrying blades tends to give those worries.

~*~*~

They quickly take care of their horses in the stable. They’ll be fed and brushed by the inn’s workers, but they prefer to take off the saddles -and their weapons- down themselves.

Andromache fit her axe by her side, right hip where they all fit their blades, scimitar and long sword and katana alike. Quỳnh was there when they started forging blades in China, and she was greatly interested when Nippon stopped with the double edge to focus on the perfection of one side. She yielded one of the firsts, and she never really let it go, simply added it to her range of weapon of speed. Where Andromache is violence in the impact, she’s violence in the strike. She brings death before it can be seen, gone as quickly as she arrived.

Yusuf, both hands full of their bags and Niccolò’s bow, will as always let his other half keep one hand free to fend for them, in an unvoiced show of trust that Andromache and Quỳnh both grew accustom to when staying in town. Niccolò, in a strange mirror to Quỳnh, has also found a likeness to the bow. He does not bring it into action like her, but rather he stands back with his massive long bow, covering them from afar. Yusuf never liked the distance; he’d rather fight hand to hand than shoot arrows. Maybe that’s why Andromache understand him the most rather than cold Niccolò. He burns with passion like she was born with. He smiles when walking into fights where Quỳnh and Niccolò keep the satisfaction for when the dust settle.

And so charged with their weapons and bags, knowing they stand out from the crowd of merchant walking with blades on their person rather than knives concealed beneath folds of clothing, they make their way to the inn.

“There should be tubs waiting for us.” Quỳnh says, and they all hear Niccolò’s sigh.

“ _Praise be to god._ ” He says in Arabic, the language he always uses when he wishes to make Yusuf smile. It doesn’t fail, the warrior has a smile bring down his serious frown, and he flashes a wink to his other half.

“Be glad you don’t have to smell yourself.” Yusuf says, laughter in his voice.

“I do smell you though, _habibi_. As much you are dear to me, there’s limits to a man’s love.”

“Can you hear them Quỳnh? A bit of dirt and they cannot kiss.” Andromache teases as she pushes the inn’s door open, looking over her shoulder with a smirk.

“Wait until we hit the monsoons and there’s no river safe enough for us to bathe in. Your love will be challenged then.” Andromache remembers when they got stranded in a bog a couple century ago. She remembers Quỳnh complaining about mud in unsavory places for months, amongst other sweet memories.

~

The room is modest, but it’s more than they had in months. There’s a bed tucked against a corner, not as big as hoped but they’ve dealt with less. There’s a pitcher of water over a table with a bowl, but what catches their interest is the massive tub of copper sitting in the middle of the room. There’s water in it already, and three pitchers full of fuming water beside it, to heat it up. Andromache will ask for a second tub to be brought, because there’s no way the water will stay clean enough for her own bath after Quỳnh, not with all the road they’ve done. She can pay for it, so why not enjoy the luxury? And if they’re feeling gaudy enough, she might even ask for a third one, just to relax in the water.

She knows she won’t, but it’s nice to daydream.

Quỳnh is already walking to a corner to lay down her bags. She gently props her sword and bow against the wall, outside of unwanted eye sight if someone were to open the door, but free to grab if needed. Andromache watches as she takes off her scarf, letting her disheveled braid fall down her back. She’s beautiful, sweat and grim covering her skin, the exhaustion of riding painted over her shoulders.

She knows that under the joy of returning to her lands, now called Đại Việt but still the same in Quỳnh’s heart; Andromache knows she’s pained to see the dark hour on her first home. And ache doesn’t fade with time, it only makes it pierce your heart with more vehemence.

Andromache let her bags fall on the ground and walk up to Quỳnh. She barely has time to turn around before Andromache takes her in her arms, and Quỳnh let herself fall against her, trusting her to not let go. There’s a deep sigh followed by a wet cough, and Andromache knows the feeling. She squeezes harder, making sure she knows she’s not alone, that she’s here.

Quỳnh closes her arms around her, and Andromache can nestle her face in her neck, slowly breath in her smell. She still smells like fire camp and the road’s dust, but underneath it all, there’s her scent. Freshly peeled bark and morning cold dew over new grown leaf, the hint of spice behind it all that Andromache grew familiar with.

They do not get like this very often, needing comfort and seeking touches; but sometimes. Sometimes, when the time is right, when the heart in the right place, they need this. Andromache let her fingers dances along the line of her clothes, of the belt wrapped around her waist and the warmth of her body underneath it all.

“ _We’ll do good._ ” She says in their first shared tongue, name long forgotten but the words still there in their head, and she feels Quỳnh nod.

“ _I know. I just hope we get there in time._ ” And that’s the problem, isn’t it. They’ll help, they’ll die and stand up again to die again, as many times as it’ll be needed. But their gift won’t be any help if they do not arrive in time to use it.

“ _One night, and we’re gone before the sun can hit its highest point._ ” It sounds like a promise, and Quỳnh presses a kiss at the base of her throat, lips soft against the thin skin. Andromache pulls away to look into her eyes, and Quỳnh presses her head into her palms, wordlessly. She slides a hand up the nape of her neck, and find dried blood clinging to her hair. She shows the dry flakes to Quỳnh who laughs.

“Okay, I get it.” She smoothly switched back to their shared Greek, learned together centuries ago, older than any words will be heard here. “Don’t think you’re any cleaner than I am right now, my heart. At least I comb my hair every night.”

“I can help you clean.” She adds a lecherous slur into her words, and Quỳnh shakes her head.

“You are one audacious lady, Andromache.”

“Only with the right person.”

“Stop flattering me and go put away your bags, the room isn’t that big.” Quỳnh is stepping away after laying another kiss on her lips, filled with promises.

Andromache let her go as requested, but she’d rather watch as she takes off her belts and sashes, let her robes fall around her feet. She grins, making eyes contact with Andromache as she gets her shoes, letting her hips sway in Andromache’s direction. The pants follow, revealing skin and muscles and Andromache grins to herself.

“I’ll forever be grateful,” Quỳnh says nonchalant, voice smooth as silk as she walks to the tub. “That our travel by horses do not leave us soar and aching but merely weary.” She steps in the water, and Andromache watches as she slowly sinks deep in the warm water, smiling, not once leaving her out of her sight even though she has to look over her shoulders and contort her chest.

“I am. Too.” But as nice as this is, there’s a couple things she wants to do before she can relax. She reluctantly takes her eyes off and she hears Quỳnh’s victorious chuckle.

As Quỳnh bathes, she goes through their bags. They have enough coins in their pockets to last them at least a full moon cycle, if not more, counting expenses and little pleasures. There’s more in their bags, but it’s sewn into lapels and under pockets so no one can access it. And their closest hide out is in the Hengduan mountains, so they can access it quickly enough if need be.

She listens as the water trickle and ripples behind her, Quỳnh soft breath and sighs of contentment. Over time, you learn to appreciate the smallest pleasure. Clean skin and prospect of food are good for the head.

“I’ll go give the boys their clothes.” Andromache says once she realizes they still have the full bag of clothing Quỳnh bought almost two weeks ago. “And I’ll warn the keeper we’ll need a second serving of water for the tub.”

“You do that.” When she looks behind her, Quỳnh is lying against the edge of the tub, eyes closed and smiling. “I’ll be waiting here, enjoying this bath, and not moving a finger.” It startles a laugh out of Andromache.

She takes her axe with her, just in case, and get out of the room, careful to not open the door too wide. Nudity don’t bother them, but they still like to keep lecherous eyes out of their privacy. There’s no one in the corridor as she makes her way to Yusuf and Niccolò room three doors over. And as she learned in the past, she knocks before walking into unwanted sights. Ten is nine time too many. She does open the door when she hears Yusuf’s ' _come in!_ '

He’s already sitting in the tub, mimicking Quỳnh‘s positions almost perfectly. He does have one hand out of the water, reaching toward Niccolò who is sitting on the bed, lacing up his braccae.

“Andromache! I was about to come over.”

“Don’t worry. Got you clothes here.” She throws the packed clothes over to the bed, and squint her eyes. Niccolò’s chest is glistening with water. “Were you really bathing with him?”

“Well, yes.”

“That’s disgusting.” She says, and Yusuf laugh, loud and clear.

“I thought your love was unmatched by a little dirt.”

“Does not mean I like bathing with Quỳnh’s sweat, nor do I wish to impose her my scent.” Young love she wants to say. It gets boring after a millennial to be all over each other all the time. “And that’s not proof of love, just proof you’re horny.”

“Hey.” They both say in the same voice, but they’re smiling, taking no offense in a jab that meant none.

“Enjoy the sticky handjob. I’m asking for a second bath for me, should I ask for one on your behalf too?” She watches as they exchange a look, an eyebrow raised and a twist of the lip. There’s a tilt of the head and, all without taking his eyes of Niccolò, Yusuf answers.

“We would appreciate it, yes. Thank you Andromache.” And that’s her cue to get out before they resume what she assumes was a passionate love making session. She’d expect no less from that pair. She makes her way down to the main room, and knocks on the front table. The inn keeper sees her, and gesture for her to wait with a tired sigh. She watches as he puts away pouches of leather.

“ _We will need a second fill of water, both of our room_.” She uses Chinese, and it falls flawlessly from her tongue. You get a knack for languages after a couple millenniums. The inn keeper levels her with a look she recognizes to be not amicable. She opens her pouch and drops 3 coins more than needed. “ _We would also appreciate hot pitchers with the new water, they’ve all been used._ ”

“ _I’ll have them brought to you as soon as possible_.” He’s reluctant, but money is money.

“ _Make it half an hour._ ” She says. “ _Thank you._ ” She adds because he’s not being as difficult as she thought he’d be. He nods, and she leaves him there. There’s much better things waiting for her in her room.

Quỳnh doesn’t even raise her head when she hears the door opens. That’s one thing Andromache doesn’t think she’ll stop marveling at. They know each other so well, a breath is enough for her to recognize Quỳnh in the dark, and she knows her footstep are unmistakable for her.

“My heart.” She says, and that’s what makes Quỳnh’s head turn toward her. The smile that stretches her lips is beautiful.

“Come do my hair.” She demands, more than ask, because she already knows the answer. Without another word, Andromache lays her labrys down the bed and walks over to the tub, taking off her leather cuffs and pushing the fabric up her arms. Quỳnh give her the soap and closes her eyes again.

Slowly, like the ritual that this has become, movement ingrained deep into her bones, Andromache works a lather up on the soap, and start on her hair. She’s taken down the braid already, and some of the dust has been washed off but there’s still sweat coating the fine strands. Methodically, with slow, firm movement, she rubs at the scalp, behind the ears and down to the nape of her neck where she knows Quỳnh is sensitive. A moan falls from her lips when she digs a finger into a tense tendon near her spine

“Were they naked?” She asks, and Andromache laughs.

“Niccolò had just put trousers on. They were bathing together.”

“Disgusting.” She says without any heat in her words. “It’ll pass them soon enough, this habit of washing together.”

“That’s what I told them. But I don’t think it’ll be anytime soon.” A moment pass and she can feel Quỳnh’s smile pushing muscles all the way to her scalp.

“I think it’s cute.” She comments, and yeah, it is. Reminds her of their first centuries together, when their love was new enough to be exhilarating. Now, it’s a steady stream of warmth through their vein, it’s the sun and the moon and everything inexorable that can’t be changed, can’t be taken away, can’t stop. She's her blood and heart, something you don’t think about with how much vital it has become.

“Rinse.” She murmurs in the comfortable silence, and Quỳnh takes a breath in before pushing her head under the water. With her fingers, Andromache shakes the strands and makes sure any soap is gone, tap her shoulder once so that Quỳnh knows when to get out of the water.

She takes the loaf of soap again to work on a second leather, and she knows it’s mostly an excuse to keep her fingers on Quỳnh a bit longer. She doesn’t protest the treatment either. She rinses the second wash, and this time when Quỳnh sit up, she lays a kiss over the crown of her hair, taste the soap and water and Quỳnh catches her hand, hold it over her shoulders, and keep it there.

“They’ll be here with another tub soon.” She says.

“Doesn’t matter.” There’s a soft squeeze on her fingers. “Stay.” And so she does, kneel behind the tub and enjoy the touch, the closeness of Quỳnh with her. The water has time to grow cold when they hear a knock on the door.

Quỳnh gets out of the bath and wrap herself in a blanket, still wet, hair dripping over her shoulders. Andromache opens the door barely hiding her smile. The inn workers don’t say a word, but she can see what they’re thinking written all over their faces. They change the tub and put another one, and get out without a word.

“ _Give them a coin._ ” Quỳnh asks Andromache in Chinese. “ _To thank you for your services._ ” So she does that, and they school their expression, if only for a little. Andromache wastes no time in closing the door behind them to finally starts on her boots and shrug off all her clothes.

She gets into the bath, and she’s quick and perfunctory because she knows what’s going to happen after her bathe. She rubs the soap over her chest, her back, under the armpits and spend a thorough time on her feet because there’s still mud from when she stepped on a sword and ruined her shoes. Tries to get all the grim from under her nails.

She can see Quỳnh sitting on the bed, blanket pooling around her hips, carefully brushing her hair with her wooden comb. She’s looking at Andromache, not taking her eyes off for a moment. And as soon as Andromache drops the soap into the water, she up on her feet. They’ve done this dance before. She doesn’t need to ask for Andromache to sit up, for Quỳnh to get behind her. With a hand over her hips, she crowds Andromache and takes the soap from her hand to work on her hair.

Deft fingers take off the braid, and with one of the pitchers she wet it all, letting water flow down her face and shoulders. Andromache closes her eyes and let herself enjoy it, let the tension in her shoulders drop with the water, let herself to just breathe. Quỳnh start on her hair just like she did, scrubs the strands clean of the dirt and sweat and blood.

She uses the pitcher to rinse of the soap rather than have her head under water, but it’s only more excuses to put fingers on her skin. Quỳnh is humming again, some melody century old certainly, but it’s familiar enough to soothe her and ground her in this moment, out of her head.

They stay in the water for a while, longer than they usually would, until the water starts to turn cold. Quỳnh’s hand travel down her stomach to the crease of her thighs, to her groin, and with agile fingers she brings pleasure upon Andromache, and she let it all overwhelm her, the sent, the warmth, the weight of Quỳnh’s body beneath her. The other hand is busy with her breast, and Andromache let herself falls into her arms, head resting over her shoulder, mouths agape where soft breathes and moans comes from, completely undone.

After the quivering in her legs pass, it’s Quỳnh’s turn to shivers under her lips, trying to dampens her noise by biting into the bed’s cover. She tastes just as sweet as the sounds she makes, and the press of her thighs against Andromache's head feels like heaven. She’d gladly make her body her resting ground, only to spend eternity trying to take her apart and bringing her all the pleasures she can. Quỳnh’s fingers tangle into her hair and she welcomes the painful tugs with pleased moans, lapping until Quỳnh gives into the sensation and let herself go.

“We should get dressed. I’m starving.” She says once they caught their breath back, and Andromache chuckles, lay a final kiss over her navel and stand up, feeling lose and warm. They rinse off in the water one last time before dressing up. Andromache manages to sneak one kiss over her shoulders before Quỳnh bats her away, claiming they’ll have all the time they want later this night, to which Andromache says they don’t have to wait the night for that to happens. She gets a dirty robe in her face for that, but it’s worth it if only for the grin Quỳnh shares with her at her words.

~

Yusuf and Niccolò are already sitting at a table when they come down from their room, and Yusuf stands up and wave a hand at them. They make their way to the table they chose, near the back of the room but still with a clear eye sight. Smart.

When it comes to clothes, they’re all partial to certain style, certain shape and colors that they can’t really part with, no matter the century. And today is no different.

If he can choose, Yusuf will always go for long tunics and colors, jewelry if he can get away with that because he likes beautiful things, so why wouldn’t he wear them too? Which is why he’s wearing some kind of wide legged pants tucked inside his boots. He discarded the long coat he bought to go with his short jacket and a tunic. It isn’t exactly the most blending option, but then again, they are traveler, it won’t raise too many looks on them.

Niccolò is partial to any clothes that allows him to wear hooded fabric, and long coat. He’s wearing long trousers and a robe with a dark sash, and she knows Yusuf will talk about his lack of colors for days, like always. And since he still favors his long sword over close range, he took the sheep skin coat they found a week ago that leaves his right side free to yield his weapon.

Andromache, who refuses to part with her arm leather bands, choose a tight and fitting shirt and trousers because she hates nothing more than having her clothes get in the way or rip during a battle. She added a long coat, but only because it has slit on the side that won’t keep her from running or riding, which is all she’s asking for.

But as always, it’s Quỳnh who managed to find the most fitting clothing, and the most beautiful too. She likes layers, and the heat of red fabric wrapping her body. She likes her sashes and fine woven threads adorning collars and cuffs. The robe she’s currently wearing has been cut shorter, and she tended to it while travelling, at night near the fire camp with her needle and thread to make sure they’d hold, because practicality must come before aesthetic. The robe overlaps with her flowing pants and light boots, and the sleeveless silk vest over it is mesmerizing. What an honor Andromache has to share her days with this woman.

As they sit down at the table, Quỳnh first and Andromache next to her, closest to the room, protecting, she takes a moment to look at Yusuf and Niccolò, who still sports signs of their bathe even though they must have been sitting here for a while, if their half empty cups are anything to go by.

She knows Yusuf’s curls will take time to dry, even more than Andromache and Quỳnh’s hair even though it’s longer, just like Lykon’s used to. But Niccolò fine strands are almost entirely dry already, lucky with his shorter cut. Andromache will braid hers before sleeping tonight, and Quỳnh will attentively brush out and style hers tomorrow morning before putting on the scarf she wears for travel.

This is all very familiar knowledge and rituals they’re all privy to. She knows that like she knows the sun will set tomorrow again, and it’s a good feeling, to have that knowledge be a part of her.

“So.” Yusuf says, grinning. “Is it faster or not to bathe together?” The lustful comment is barely hidden under his tone. Niccolò has the decency to try to blush, but he’s feeling too good to be embarrassed about that. It’s more of a pleased coloring of his cheeks rather than an embarrassed blush. And she doesn’t mind it at all.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Quỳnh says, voice collected and smooth. She shoots him a knowing glance that makes him smile harder. Andromache can’t hide her own grin. “You ordered food yet?”

“Just did.” He says and sit back as Niccolò takes over. Sometimes, she wonders if her and Quỳnh are like that too, an extension of one another rather than two separate being. It certainly feels like that at times, when they fight, when they make love together.

“We ordered enough for all of us.” Niccolò says. He proceeds to describe all the rice, vegetables, meat and soup they’ll be getting, all of it warm which would be enough to make them cry with happy tears. There is also wine at the table, spiced and fresh and Andromache waste no time in pouring them all a drink, filling the boys cups again.

“Good. I’m starving” Quỳnh takes her cup and contently sighs as she sips on her wine.

“And they have some sweet _yuanxiao_ for you Andromache.” Yusuf adds.

“Even better.” Andromache has never been shy about her sweet tooth. She sits back to enjoy her own cup. They left their weapons in their room, in safety, and they do not need to look over their shoulders for predators or road thieves. Of course, they have their blades under their clothes, it would be asking for it to not carry them at all time. But tonight, if for an evening, they can settle down and enjoy down time correctly.

Andromache turns her head to watch as Quỳnh starts on old stories the lands are bringing back to her memory. She’s heard them a hundred times already, and she knows for a fact Niccolò asked about this particular fight three time already, but it’s Quỳnh. She always omits something, keep a piece for herself that no one else will ever know, and pepper the rest as she recounts her tales again and again, cunning enough to keep everyone hanging at her lips as she delivers her wisdom.

Only Andromache is privy to some of the most precious pieces, and that is the one knowledge she wishes to keep with herself for as long as she’ll roam this earth. That only her can pretend to know Quỳnh and everything she keeps within her heart. And that Quỳnh is the one key to everything she is, was and will be.

Quỳnh shoots her a knowing wink, and knock their knee together twice. The liquor flows, and Andromache let peace inside her heart, surrounded by her family.

**Author's Note:**

> Please ignore the fact that they probably would have travelled pretending to be m/f couple in order to avoid question about two unmarried women travelling alone and keep a low profile. I want them to sleep in the same bed okay, I’m a simple fic writer in need of fluff.
> 
> Come scream with me about immortal sapphic warriors on tumblr [@salzundhonig](https://salzundhonig.tumblr.com/)


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